Sylvie and Bruno | Page 6

of
his way.
"Isn't he learned?" the Warden said, looking after him with admiring
eyes. "Positively he runs over with learning!"
"But he needn't run over me!" said Bruno.
The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his
dressing-gown for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very
strange-looking boots, the tops of which were open umbrellas. "I
thought you'd like to see them," he said. "These are the boots for
horizontal weather!"
[Image...Boots for horizontal weather]
"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?"
"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would not be of much
use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be
invaluable--simply invaluable!"
"Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children," said the Warden.
"And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early, as I've some
business to attend to." The children seized the Professor's hands, as
familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried him away. I
followed respectfully behind.
CHAPTER 2.
L'AMIE INCONNUE.
As we entered the breakfast-saloon, the Professor was saying "--and he
had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for him,
my Lady. This way, my Lady," he added, "this way!" And then, with
(as it seemed to me) most superfluous politeness, he flung open the
door of my compartment, and ushered in "--a young and lovely lady!" I

muttered to myself with some bitterness. "And this is, of course, the
opening scene of Vol. I. She is the Heroine. And I am one of those
subordinate characters that only turn up when needed for the
development of her destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the
church, waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"
"Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words I heard (oh
that too obsequious Guard!), "next station but one." And the door
closed, and the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous
throb of the engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic
monster, whose very circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we
were once more speeding on our way. "The lady had a perfectly formed
nose," I caught myself saying to myself, "hazel eyes, and lips--" and
here it occurred to me that to see, for myself, what "the lady" was really
like, would be more satisfactory than much speculation.
I looked round cautiously, and--was entirely disappointed of my hope.
The veil, which shrouded her whole face, was too thick for me to see
more than the glitter of bright eyes and the hazy outline of what might
be a lovely oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an equally
unlovely one. I closed my eyes again, saying to myself "--couldn't have
a better chance for an experiment in Telepathy! I'll think out her face,
and afterwards test the portrait with the original."
At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my swift
mind,' now hither, now thither, in a way that I felt sure would have
made AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as
provokingly blank as ever--a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical
diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose
and a mouth. Gradually, however, the conviction came upon me that I
could, by a certain concentration of thought, think the veil away, and so
get a glimpse of the mysterious face--as to which the two questions, "is
she pretty?" and "is she plain?", still hung suspended, in my mind, in
beautiful equipoise.
Success was partial--and fitful--still there was a result: ever and anon,
the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but, before I could
fully realise the face, all was dark again. In each such glimpse, the face

seemed to grow more childish and more innocent: and, when I had at
last thought the veil entirely away, it was, unmistakeably, the sweet
face of little Sylvie!
"So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie," I said to myself, "and this
is the reality. Or else I've really been with Sylvie, and this is a dream!
Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?"
To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take
this sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange
fishing-town on the North coast, and read it over again:-
"DEAR OLD FRIEND,
"I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly be to
you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I shall be
ready to give you all the benefit of such medical skill as I have: only,
you know, one mustn't violate professional etiquette! And you are
already in the